Month: January 2012

I went to the hotel Friday, which turned out to be a Bed and Breakfast.  Not having ever stayed at one, I didn’t know that meant “someone’s private house.”  I walked in and totally took the people off-guard.  The husband stood in the hallway in his socks and asked me what I was doing.  “Checking in, I’m the comedian.”  His wife started yelling no one called from the club and I quickly realized that I was violating their privacy or interrupting whatever plans they had.

Well, they didn’t even have me sign in and showed me to my room, which was nice.  No iron, which sucked, b/c I had a super wrinkly shirt.  Then he told me the bathroom was across the hall.  Oh, and as I set my stuff down, his kid popped out playing hide and seek.  In my room.  I logged on to the net and found an email from the agent that said they switched hotels, so I had to gather up my shit and go seven miles north to the new hotel.

I went back out to my car, which was covered in salt, so I couldn’t see backing up.  They were in their car waiting on me to leave, obviously going to dinner, since I was their only guest.  I think I backed into a pine tree, not hurting my car, but probably messing up their tree pretty bad.  I gassed it and got the hell out of there.  Though they had a nice patio and a plethora of board games, the kid hanging in my room freaked me out.  Hey Timmy, mom and dad are having a guest over!  He’s a bearded drunk with sweaty feet.  Don’t make eye contact with him, but he’s sleeping upstairs and will probably pee out of window to avoid using the communal bathroom.  Make sure you hide in his room and watch him sleep, he’ll love that!

One of my favorite parts of doing comedy is learning about the game from comics who have been doing it a while.  I realized that I missed the gravy train of comedy from the late 80’s to the early 2000’s.  Believe or not, the pay has mostly dropped and the shows are harder to get.  Youtube, internet access, Comedy Central, 457 channels on TV all equal less people going out.  There are theaters, which huge names try to sell out.  There are clubs, which are tough to crack into.  Finally, there are the independent shows at your local lodges, bars, clubs, and coffeeshops that fuel your career.

Apparently, one could make a good living in a year back in the day because these shows were everywhere.  I had one comic tell me he made over $1000 a week with gigs and t-shirt sales and didn’t have to travel more than 150 miles.  As a middle act.  This is depressing.  I once drove 10 hours for a $100 gig.  Each way.  Why?  Because I am an idiot and wanted to cross another state off my list.

It’s not all rainclouds, kids!  You get pretty good advice from experienced comics that you would take a decade to find out on your own.  Here’s some freebies I got – Black is the best selling color of shirt.  Don’t accept cocaine as payment – you can’t put coke in your gas tank.  (That is actual advice I got once.)  If you make the front of the crowd laugh, the rest will laugh watching them.  Don’t drive drunk with out of state plates back to the hotel – cops are not impressed you did a 25 minute set Mel’s Tavern.  There’s also another couple I learned on my own.  NEVER pay for a hotel room when it’s supposed to be “taken care of.”  I have wasted more time chasing hotel money because Johnny the door man forgot to put down his bong and reserve the room for me last Tuesday.  Also, call beforehand if you’ve never worked for the booker.  I have been sent the wrong address to gigs, incorrect hotel info (as in not the right fucking hotel), and oh yes, one of my favorites, the wrong start time for the show – both too early and too late.  Nothing, however, tops the best ever – one mix up led to a restaurant posting my comedy resume.  That’s right, everyone.  My cell phone #, email, and home address on a cork board in the entryway of a restaurant that seated 250 people.  Oopsie!

After a brief hiatus, my local comedy club is up and running with the open mike/comedy showcase.  I was so excited to see all the New Year’s resolutions fulfilled with new comics making asses of themselves, I almost cracked a smile.  Unfortunately, whoever planned 67 miles of construction made me late, so I just missed a new guy workshopping a Chris Farley impression and my night was ruined.  Sadly, I do one hell of a Matt Foley after a couple beers, but if I did it onstage, I would expect to be slapped in chains and led down Main Street as peasants threw cabbage at me.

I got to emcee and was glad to see that nothing has changed with new comics.  New white guys love to hit the stage and regurgitate sex phrases from urban dictionary, while new black comics love to slow walk to the mike while I stand there awkwardly, waiting on them to get on the damn stage so I can piss/sit down/do anything other than stand there like an ass for 24 seconds while they pimp stride to the mike.

I forgot my belt, which annoyed me to no end b/c I have OCD, plus I had to poo, but some guy was in the john.  He was wiping so furiously, I heard it.  It sounded like he was scrubbing his work boots after a day felling timber in the Yukon.  Despite these setbacks, the show went well and it was yet again reinforced, via newbies, that men like to jerk off.  Funny (sometimes) and informative (always), welcome to open mike comedy.

I am a dog owner, so most people assume I can watch animals.  Not so much.  I am currently “catsitting” and I don’t much care for it.  I cleaned out the litter boxes (3 of them) and found these enormous pee clumps the size of baseballs.  I think it was pee, not so sure.  Then I noticed cats don’t eat or drink water.  My dumb dog ate KFC gravy out the trash can last week when I left it unattended for 15 seconds.  In fact, a dog will eat until vomiting, then eat that.  I may be starving these cats, but I have no idea.

Once, when sitting, I apparently left a door cracked, which led to a dog knocking over the bird cage and ravaging the new family bird.  To avoid the trauma, I wrapped it up in paper towels and flung it into a field from my moving car.  That’s a little awkward of call to make.  “How are the pets?”  Well, two are pretty good.  The bird is now with Jesus or the eagle god or whatever happens to parakeets when savagely ripped apart in the jowls of a 60 lb. dog.  Now about that sitting money…

About a month ago, I was turning onto Broad from High, in broad daylight, on a green light.  A cop was in the middle of Broad and wrote a ticket for me.  Why?  There was a sign, not hanging from the light, like 98% of those signs, but off to the side, right after the Occupy Columbus mess on the sidewalk.  I would have paid the fine, but I told the cop I thought it was BS and he actually apologized to me and told me he wouldn’t show up at court if I fought it.  Since I am stubborn as a mule and more importantly, suffering from leadfoot, I decided to fight the ticket.

I knew things were bad when the prosecutor and judge didn’t immediately recognize me from my world fame as Chris Coen, comedy genius.  Clearly, they live in log cabins or caves, I surmised.  Even worse, my pal the apologizing cop tricked me and showed up!  Obviously hired by all other comedians to slow down this bullet train of comedy success!  The anti-Coen league strikes again!

I hate almost all lawyers, so I didn’t hire one.  Some say risky, but I thought through my force of will and expansive intellect, I could toy with my opponents like a cat bats around a mouse before the kill.  Amazingly, the prosecutor countered with “prior offenses” and “not being able to change the law”.  I considered unleashing fire from my eyes, but turned to the judge.  Being a judge, he had to know he was dealing with a superior human, an ubermensch if you will.  I don’t know what judge school he went to, but he convicted me!  Must have been “Dumb Stupid University”, am I right?  (High five my dog.)

I explained to the judge my facts, which are more important than the “truth” facts.  With the corrupt system clearly leaning on this righteous crusader for justice, I pleaded “No Contest”, because no self-respecting American admits defeat.  The judge said, “Let me review the case.  OK, guilty.”  Guilty?  Guilty of loving freedom too much?  Then I stand before you, sir, a condemned man!  Actually, I said thanks, sir and paid my stupid fine.  If you pass a sweet black Chevy with a rugged Adonis behind the wheel, going two mph under the limit in Columbus, it’s probably me.  I really have to watch my back now – even the “justice” system is against my success!!!  Montage time!!!

I’m finally back in the show loop this Friday after a bit of a slow time.  December is the month for benefit shows, which is nice, but personally it sucks not even getting gas money.  The one exception is New Year’s Eve, but I had one of my worst shows ever on New Year’s Eve a few years back.

The venue said they discussed pay with us, but they didn’t and I learned not to trust anyone, ever.  Plus they served food, buffet style, right when the show started.  The overwhelming heat from the fireplace behind the stage was a nice bonus as my back sweat was equal to running a mile.

I hope everyone enjoyed their holidays, but I need work, so Bah Humbug.  Bring on 2012.